


can(n)on fire

by Lysaanderr



Category: TwoSet, Twosetviolin, Video Blogging RPF, twoset violin
Genre: F/M, Gen, Pining, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:02:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28211337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lysaanderr/pseuds/Lysaanderr
Summary: Eddy gets married.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	can(n)on fire

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Indeterminate time skips between sections.

Eddy meets Brett's eyes, and Brett nods, throat tight.

Then the organ starts to play, and Brett almost laughs. It's so cliché, of course it is. _Pachelbel_ , Brett half-follows the tune absent-mindedly and realizes he still can’t spell it.

Everyone's head swivels to the door, and well, wasn't being cliche the point? Eddy looks away from Brett and he, too, looks to the door. 

Of course, she's beautiful. She's gorgeous, stunning; she's beaming right at Eddy and Eddy is grinning right back and she's stepping forward with absolute confidence and surety and Eddy is turning to take her hand without a breath of hesitation and Brett thinks that they're perfect together.

His heart is so full, fit to bursting, and Eddy, that crybaby, is already teary-eyed and sniffling. There's something on the tip of Brett's tongue, something heavy and piercing and he swallows all the razor-sharp blades and feels every single cut on the way down. 

\------

Brett shades his eyes with a hand and peers up at the newly-painted house. The smell of freshly-mowed grass tickles and he sneezes. Eddy turns to him at the sound, the proud smile bright on his face. His new home, his _own_ home. Eddy's.

"Give me your hand," Eddy says suddenly, reaches out, and grabs Brett's wrist before waiting for a response. "Here."

Brett looks down at his upturned palm, his wrist encircled by Eddy's long fingers. Eddy puts a single key on the palm of his hand, glinting in the early afternoon light. 

"Deja-vu, huh?"

Brett knows Eddy is smiling at him, and he thinks about the smooth worn key he still keeps in his wallet. The key to a house that he will never visit again, the grooves in the metal notched by time, the remembered heft of it in hurried fumbling with sweaty hands in the dark, shoulders shaking from smothered laughter.

"Yeah," he replies and curls his fingers over it.

Eddy slaps him on the shoulder, an oh-so-familiar touch, and Brett almost feels the skin beneath his shirt crackle at the fleeting contact, burn and burn like it's peeling back and exposing his soft cracking core.

"Come over any time," Eddy continues, "You know we'd love to have you over whenever."

Brett can't even nod; his arm drops to his side, the crease of his wrist bearing the phantom memory of the curve of Eddy's fingers. 

\--------

They joked about this, sometimes with real teenage boy derision, later with some kind of wistful thinking. It's the kind of love that undoes you, tugs at you bit by bit and watches as you unspool and disintegrate. The kind that remakes you, reinforces the hammering, pounding core of you until you're blazing alight and scorching.

Brett knows that it's real. 

_I love you. I love you._ He says again and again. 

Brett knows it's not real.

_\------------------------_

Brett is shoving his groceries into his bag at the bagging counter when a shadow slips over and says, "Hey!"

Brett glances up and back and his breath catches a little, just because, _oh, he's dyed his hair again_ , and it's a nice sort of natural brown and Brett feels suddenly hungry like he remembered he hasn't eaten in days.

Then his tunnel vision backpedals a little, then a lot, and he smiles and goes, "Hey" in return, his greeting including the slender form and the stroller next to Eddy. 

Brett leans over to coo at the pair of huge eyes staring up at him. He was at this little gurgling wriggling baby's baby shower, has "first step" and "first tooth" photos saved on his phone. Eddy once called him in the middle of the night, crying because the baby had a fever, and he didn't know what to do. 

"What's up with this?" Brett places the tip of his finger, feather-light, against a band aid against the baby-smooth forehead.

"Man, it's crazy, you know. Eyes off for ONE second and BAM, falling on the floor or hanging off the side of the highchair or something!" Eddy gestures wildly and the wife rolls her eyes. 

"Just remember to catch the baby first and not the Strad," Brett jokes, and they cackle in unison. Eddy's wife is bemused; one elbow is crooked on the stroller's handlebar and she's eyeing them with her chin cupped in her hand. 

Eddy slaps a hand on Brett's shoulder—oh, this offhand gesture—and Brett wonders what would happen if he reached up and caught that casually flung wrist. But he already knows what would happen: Eddy would let him. Eddy would let him, smile maybe, look at him right in the eyes. And it would mean nothing.

"See you around, bro," Eddy is already turning away, waving over his shoulder. Brett nods but Eddy doesn't see it.

Brett gathers the rest of his groceries and staggers home, wrestling with his front door, which always sticks. He tosses his keys on the kitchen table and walks over to the windowsill where his violin lies, just where he left it. The varnish gleams in the sun and when Brett picks it up; its neck is slightly warm against the knuckle of his index finger. It's somehow still in tune, and Brett looks at his wavering reflection in the window.

He closes his eyes.

The house is quiet; there is no other violin playing in another room, no muted video game beeps and boops. 

The house is quiet.

Brett focuses on the expansion and contraction of his lungs with each breath, imagines he can hear the dull rush of blood in his veins, the rocking hum of his heart, squeezing and flexing and beating in his chest, beating and beating and still beating. 

He lifts his bow and begins to play.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I tried writing fluff... I swear...


End file.
